Johnny Theremin and the Men Without Tents
by Whizzothecrunchyfrog
Summary: A Johnny Theremin story! Anyone familiar with the Theremin following knows the guidelines, so read on. Those who don't know, don't worry, you'll get it soon enough! You don't need to know anything about Johnny, or even about Neil Gaiman, to enjoy this, so


Johnny Theremin and the Men Without Tents

CHAPTER ONE: _In which we learn about Johnny Theremin._

Johnny Theremin was sitting at his desk in the office he rented when there was a knock on his door.

"Who is it?"

"Theremin! It's Ralph Gibbs. I'm collecting rent again." Johnny sighed.

"Can't you just let me slide until next week, Mr. Gibbs?"

"I've been letting you slide for two months, Theremin. This will make three months' rent you owe me now.

"I'm sorry Mr. Gibbs, but I just don't have the money. Apparently private genealogists aren't in very high demand right now."

"You've been saying that and saying that, but it still doesn't get the rent paid on your damn office. Go get some money, Theremin and pay me within the week."

"And if I don't?"

"I shouldn't need to tell you what'll happen if you don't." Johnny sighed again, and put some papers into a file. He waited until he was sure Gibbs was gone before he left.

Johnny ran his own business as a private genealogist. He looked up family histories for people. It was beginning to dawn on him, however, that any idiot with a few clues to go on, a computer with internet and some microfilm at hand could look up their family history with no real trouble. It was unfortunate. There had been days when he'd been in high demand. The phone had been ringing off the hook with clients asking Johnny to see if they were related to Robert the Bruce or General George Washington. In recent years, however, people had begun looking up their own genealogies. Only the lazy people called Johnny these days. And since it had become so easy, lazy people wanting to discover their family history were getting in short supply. Johnny's bank account was quickly drying up. He barely had enough money to pay rent on his apartment, which was why he was three months short on rent for the office.

Johnny looked up at his apartment building from the alley. He could see a tripod camera sticking out from the curtains in number 14. That was Johnny's new neighbor. He'd moved in a week ago, and all sorts of strange things had been happening since then. People dressed in black suits and sunglasses came and went all the time with food, drinks and other such things, but the tenant himself had never stuck his head out the door. Johnny could sometimes hear strange noises through the walls, and every time he looked up, he saw his neighbor peering through that tripod camera at the apartment across the way. Johnny, out of curiosity, had taken to looking at this apartment too, but had yet to see anything out of the ordinary. He suspected that perhaps the new neighbor was a Peeping Tom.

Johnny set about making some Ramen noodles and tea on the stove, then sat down on the couch to watch television. It wasn't long before the noises started up again. It wasn't hard to figure out what was going on, however. The noises Johnny heard through the wall were clearly those of somebody in the throes of passion.

"Dear God. Is it that hard to get a little decency around here?" Johnny muttered. He decided he'd better confront the new tenant after his lady friend had left. He was getting tired of the loud jazz music that blasted through the walls late at night, the people tramping up and down the hall at all hours, and the constant feeling of insecurity that the tripod camera created.

An hour and a half later the sounds ceased and Johnny poked his head out of his door. The door to number 14 opened as well, and a young woman emerged, waving at the person inside before closing the door, donning her sunglasses and leaving. Johnny watched her walk down the hall and descend the stairs. Now was his chance. He went over to the door of number 14 and knocked.

"What do you want?"

"It's Johnny Theremin. I'm your neighbor. If you don't mind, I'd like to discuss some things regarding…the…uh…things going on in your apartment." The door opened a crack.

"What I do is my own business," said the tenant.

"Right you are sir. However, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind keeping it down a little bit. It's a little hard for me to get to sleep some times when you have people going up and down the hall all day and night, not to mention those odd noises I hear."

"I'll try and be more careful," the tenant said.

"Thanks a lot. Oh! Before I forget, there's one more thing. What exactly is the tripod camera for?"

"I'm a photographer," said the tenant quickly.

"Well yes, I gathered that much. But why do you keep using it to take pictures of the apartment across the alley?"

"That's none of your concern."

"You're absolutely right. I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"Not at all," said the tenant darkly and closed the door.

"Well, that went swimmingly, Theremin. Great job," Johnny muttered to himself as he walked back to his apartment.

Johnny went to bed a few hours later. He was just starting to settle into a nice, comfortable slumber when the neighbor started playing jazz at a decibel level slightly more than that of an atomic bomb. The beats buzzed through the paper-thin walls, making Johnny's bed shake a little. Johnny tried burying his head under a pillow, but it didn't work.

"This is insane," he muttered. He managed to pull himself out of bed and throw on a bathrobe over his pajamas as he went to the door. He saw a light go on in the apartment across the way. Somebody leaned out of the window and yelled something. It was then that the gunshots were fired.

"SHIT!" Johnny dove to the floor. There were muffled shouts as the guns went off. Johnny peeked over the windowsill. The shooter in the apartment across the way fell from their window and landed with a sick crack in the alley below.

"That tears it." Johnny stormed out of his apartment and knocked frantically of the door of number 14. The door opened a crack.

"Yes?"

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" Johnny shouted through the opening in the door.

"Um," said the man on the other side.

"'Um?' There'd better be a better explanation for what's just happened than 'um', my friend." Johnny was nearing hysterics.

"Just how much of that…incident did you see?"

"I live in the next fucking apartment, mate! How much do you think I saw?"

"Oh dear." The man in number 14 fully opened the door.

"I'm afraid I'm going to need your help Mr. Theremin. You wouldn't mind helping me dispose of a body, would you?"

"Er…Well…If I do, will you tell me what all this noise and the camera and all that are about?" After a long pause, the tenant finally spoke.

"Yes, Mr. Theremin, I will. To a point."

"Then you've got yourself a deal. There's a dumpster around the back." Johnny turned around to lead his neighbor downstairs. Johnny would often wish later that he'd left well enough alone and not gotten involved with this strange man at all. But he didn't know that now. All he knew was that he wanted some answers as to why his neighbor was keeping him up all hours of the night. He didn't yet know that the answers he sought would lead to events that would change his life forever.


End file.
